Today, one must only appeal to the most obnoxious 10% of the electorate to boost their newsworthiness, and thereby, their electability.

As Americans, we concede that there are certain professions for which being contemptibly obnoxious is not only acceptable, but required. Lawyers. Parking cops. Celebrity chefs. Orchestra conductors. British reality show judges. (For some reason, we prefer our bitter condemnation to be steeped in an English accent, giving it an air of authority.)

Yet in the past several years, the nation has given rise to a new type of profession: People who are famous only for being awful. We have begun to reward horrifying people with fame and fortune for the sole reason that they are horrifying.

Of course, this comes on the heels of the past decade, where many of America's most notable celebrities were people who were, as the term goes, "famous for being famous." For years, the country has gazed with wonderment at the daily activities of a family whose notoriety sprung from a sex tape. Had the man-hours America has spent watching the Kardashians instead been dedicated to space exploration, half of us would be living on Jupiter by now.

But the new batch of celebrities are potentially far worse. Instead of garnering fame from militant inaction, the new breed of wannabes are cashing in on actively being reprobates. And of course, the financial spoils of uncut wretchedness only serve as incentive for others to behave the same way, causing the disease to spread like a mold.

Naturally, Patient Zero of public odiousness has been the president of the United States, who actually made one's level of contemptibility a qualification for leading the world's greatest superpower. But Donald Trump's stories have already been told; what is left to say about the president that hasn't already been said by porn stars trying to blackmail him?

Sadly, one can no longer portray Trump's rise as anomalous. From his coarse candidacy has sprung other notable figures whose talent ends at their ability to be awful. The past two years have seen America showered with Bannons and Manaforts and Omarosas and Lewandowskis, each of whom has been able to leverage their questionable skills to national ubiquity. (Former Trump campaign manager Corey Lewandowski just released a new book, presumably filled with tips on how to apply first-aid to female reporters he has encountered.)

Trump's bandwagon of disreputables has also seen a few escapees end up in actual politics. Two-time House Speaker Paul Ryan challenger Paul Nehlen of Wisconsin has dropped any pretense that he's not a run-of-the-mill white supremacist, leading even alt-right godfather Steve Bannon to disown him. Former Milwaukee Sheriff David Clarke (a "loathsome cowboy") mocked his city's mayor for being bludgeoned with a pipe while trying to defend an elderly woman from attackers. Alabama Senate candidate Roy Moore had Republicans debating how big a tax cut had to be for it to justify child molestation.

Historically, politicians have made an effort to appeal to more than half the electorate, a sensible strategy given that's how you actually win. But in the social media era, one must only appeal to the most obnoxious 10% of the electorate in order to gain inordinate media coverage and therefore boost their visibility. Now, being deemed "newsworthy" precedes being deemed "electable," rather than the other way around.

This new trend has been a welcome development for those with little talent or work ethic. Being a world-class jackass takes no degree and very little practice, and yet the financial rewards can be substantial. Alt-right controversialist Milo Yiannopoulos, who tried to get away with saying things only stand-up comics get to say without the benefit of being funny, garnered a $250,000 advance against royalties from Simon & Schuster before the publisher realized that Milo Yiannopolous is human money repellent. In the past year, we've even seen that a 10-day stint as White House spokesman that exposes you as a national fraud can be a launching pad for future endeavors if you play your cards right.

And, of course, this doesn’t even count the scores of trolls-in-training-wheels that continue to ply their trade on social media, belching out indefensible opinions solely to irritate and cajole. If Trump can use Twitter to convince America that Mexico will pay for a wall, surely they can convince the country that "Attack of the Clones" is the best Star Wars movie.

It's a basic economic concept: If we continue to reward terrible people with our money and attention, we're only going to get more of it. So take some time to consider — if you're going to give your money to a world-class a-hole, first check to make sure they have their own cooking show.

Christian Schneider is a member of USA TODAY's Board of Contributors. Follow him on Twitter: @Schneider_CM.